


in waking moments

by redkeep



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunk Sex, First Time, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Threesome - M/M/M, now with bonus hints of submission!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 18:39:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7399036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redkeep/pseuds/redkeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s going to have to work damn hard to make up for lost ground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in waking moments

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you just gotta write this kinda thing. also, disclaimer: jon and robb aren't related here probably (?). it's not really mentioned, i don't know, this is just self-indulgent porn quite honestly. let's do this.

So this is how it happens:

They’re all in the basement of the house Theon rents. His roommates are out of town at some fishing competition, pure Southern boy behavior that the three of them don’t quite understand but whatever. The point is, the basement is, and has been since Theon moved in, vital to their get togethers.

The house is of a type only built in the 60’s, with light green and pink fixtures in the bathrooms and wood paneled walls. The wet bar tucked in the corner of the basement wouldn’t exist otherwise and it’s a thing of beauty. Hanging neon lights behind it, a fridge that Theon keeps well stocked.

Both Jon and Robb are not of drinking age quite yet, awkwardly caught in-between the summer after graduating from high school and real, true adulthood. Theon, for all his faults, fixes this dilemma for them easily.

Jon, at just-eighteen, is familiar with a whole host of beer and liquor, has a predilection for vodka and a tendency to be, as Theon calls him, a beer snob.

He doesn’t call Robb one, even though Robb’s worse than Jon. Robb, in fact, has an embarrassing taste for wine coolers that make him giggly and, somehow, better at video games.

Robb is, of course, a fun drunk. Wouldn’t be right any other way.

Right now he’s drinking something pink and has his tongue stuck half out of his mouth as he plays a Tony Hawk game because apparently it’s middle school again.

Jon and Theon spent much of the first hour of the night fighting over space on the couch, which Robb got sick of. So he’s now comfortably sitting next to Jon while Theon sprawls out on the reclining easy chair. Jon has a sneaking suspicion that this was Theon’s goal all along. It usually is.

But Jon’s had enough to drink in the past few hours to feel mellow in spite of everything else.

Mellow enough to actually sit next to Robb like a normal human, sunk into the cushions rather than on knife’s edge. That’s how he spends the majority of his sober time with Robb, ever since he lost the cushion of Ygritte, who broke up with him halfway through junior year.

Now there’s no pretense, no assumptions. When he was with a girl it was a clear assumption: he was fucking her and she was who he wanted to fuck and there was no way, even if he did want to fuck someone else, that it was a guy, much less one of the best friends he’s ever had in his life.

Yeah, now when he’s sober he sits next to Robb like he’ll explode if he moves a muscle. Wound up tight, walking a thin line.

But with more than a few of Theon’s annoyingly well mixed drinks knocked back, Jon is the living embodiment of liquid courage.

God, Jon likes night like these the best. Nights like these—he doesn’t even mind Theon being here, isn’t even bothered by his knowing grins and eyebrow raises. Right now it feels like a joke only they’re in on, while Robb goes like, “What the fuck is wrong with you two?”

“Nothin,” Theon says, easily, not even slurring. Theon is the least picky drinker Jon has ever seen, drinking beer that tastes like piss like it’s fine wine. It kinda makes Jon a little envious, truth be told. “Can you even, like, skateboard in real life?”

Jon tries to hold in a laugh, but it tumbles out of his mouth, an inelegant snicker. “No way. Can’t even ice skate.”

“Shut up!” Robb says, fake angry, like they don’t all already know nearly everything about each other. “It was one time and I’m telling you, if I really—if I cared about learning I’d be…the best ice skater.”

“Uh huh,” Theon says, sending an over-the-top glance at Jon, one that Robb is clearly meant to notice.

Robb takes advantage of a loading screen to throw the couch pillow next to him at Theon.

This is how it is, always. Not much different about tonight, not really, Jon thinks.

Just.

When Robb settles back down he’s sitting close to Jon than before, thighs touching. Robb’s wearing burgundy basketball shorts with _Northwoods High School_ emblazoned on them and Jon knows that Robb usually doesn’t wear anything underneath those, not when they’re just hanging around like this. So, really, they might as well be skin-to-skin.

Closest he’ll ever get anyway.

Jon clears his throat and shifts, laughing meanly as Robb fails to land a trick in the game.

“That was a hard one,” Robb says quietly, almost to himself.

Jon looks over at Theon expectantly.

Theon shakes his head. “Not even worth it. If I’m gonna make a joke, I want some kinda competition…no, um. _Challenge_. That’s too easy. Robb talkin about things being hard.”

“Sure, you’re a real high brow comedian. Can you mix me up another one of those cherry things?”

“Get me another drink, too!” Robb calls as they both get up and head over to the bar, which feels like it’s a world away, even though it’s only on the other side of a basement that can barely be considered to even have sides.

Still, with the hum of the fridge and some distance between them, Jon is pretty sure Robb can’t hear Theon say, “So, you wanna fuck him, right?”

Jon goes for spectacularly stupid and turns around so fast he almost knocks a line of bottles off the top of the bar with his arm.

“ _What_?” Jon hisses because, well, what?

Theon is grinning like he always does, no big deal. “I said: you wanna fuck Robb, right?”

“Are you—is this a joke?”

“No this is an…astute…observation,” Theon says slowly, less for effect and more because he’s the type to have trouble remembering words when he’s drunk. And when he’s sober, for that matter.

Jon’s heart is thundering like a train down a track in his chest. He watches Theon pull a bottle of Absolut and some coconut rum out of the lineup on the bar.

“I, I, I don’t want to—what you said.”

“Right,” Theon nods, going for glasses now. “That’s why you stare at him when he isn’t looking and lose your damn mind when he touches you. That’s textbook not wanting to fuck someone. You sure got me.”

“Fuh—well. You’re the one who…you kissed him!”

It’s true, after all, he did. Jon saw the video and everything. it happened at a Halloween party last fall and was played off as a joke, some guy who didn’t know Theon well enough said he would never do it, not knowing saying something like that only made Theon do everything in his power to prove a person wrong.

The story, while believable, has never exactly sat right with Jon, who knows Theon well enough to know that while the line of thinking was true enough, it wouldn’t have led him to do something that could have potentially bad results for Robb.

At least, he's pretty sure that's the case.

Anyway, the ammunition doesn’t seem to bother Theon any. He just shrugs and goes, “Yeah, I did. I was just asking, because. It seems like you wanna fuck him, too.”

“Too? Oh, God,” Jon feels like swooning. This is why he can’t stand Theon. He can’t just keep things to himself. He watches as Theon pours things haphazardly, pulls a pitcher of what looks like and probably is cherry Kool-Aid from the fridge.

When he’s done, he pushes the glass across the top of the bar to Jon. “Go for it,” he says, before turning around and opening the fridge again to put the pitcher back in and grab Robb another one of his drinks. Jon always wonders how Theon feels buying those things at the store, but then he remembers people probably assume they’re for his girlfriend.

“Wuh?”

“I think he’d be into it, so just—go for it,” Theon repeats, picking up his own glass and knocking it against Jon’s without Jon’s involvement or consent. Then he grabs Robb’s drink and walks away.

Jon’s left standing with his drink in hand and a tight feeling in his stomach because, oh fuck, has he really been that obvious?

It takes him a moment, but finally he heads back over to the couch, finding Theon and Robb arguing over what game to play next. Theon wants to play something they can all play, but Robb wants to play Skyrim and kill dragons.

“Jon, back me up here,” he says, “killing dragons is the fucking best.”

“It is pretty cool,” Jon agrees, sitting next to him. Robb smiles brightly and, Jesus, Jon really wants to say some nasty shit to him in the best way. Instead he leans down to take a huge gulp of his drink.

“Yeah, but…Mario Party,” Theon says uselessly.

The decision has already been made. Robb is popping the Skyrim disc into the PS3 and starting it up.

Jon normally likes Skyrim, actually does think killing dragons is pretty fun, but he can’t stop thinking about what Theon said and whether or not he’s right. It all hinges on that, on _I think he’d be into it_. Jon figures, well, if anyone would know it’d probably be the guy who kissed him. Maybe Robb was into it when Theon did it. But then maybe…maybe that means he’s only into Theon?

Jon sneaks a glance at Theon who, in classic Theon fashion, just winks at him obnoxiously.

Fuck it.

Jon’s not usually one for impulsivity. He’s mostly content to mull things over for months before deciding to do nothing. But he’s had three mixed drinks that, knowing his experiences in this basement, were more alcohol than anything else, and he’s been a little bit in love with Robb probably since they met in first grade, before he knew what love was.

He sets his mostly empty cup on the ground, at the side of the couch and finds he’s just drunk enough to pluck the PS3 controller out of Robb’s hands and drop it without caring what happens to it once it's out of sight.

“Uh,” Robb says, looking confused, blinking at his empty hands. Time delayed, too drunk-heavy to react even as Jon does the fucking impossible. He moves over and half-straddles Robb’s lap and before he can be pushed away he just fucking _goes for it_.

It feels so fucking good. One hand on the side of Robb’s neck, fingers on his jaw, feeling his pulse as he leans in and is flooded with the exhilaration of remembering that he can _do_ things, can take control. That it’s not a question of what he can and cannot do, so much as it is a question of what he should and should not do.

Tonight, he doesn’t care about should and should not, he decides.

He kisses Robb full on the mouth, with the distant sound of medieval fantasy video game music in the background, like he’s on some mythological quest to make something of himself through this one action alone.

Robb tastes like strawberries and sweetness from his stupid drinks, and that means—that means he’s letting Jon do this. Because Jon is licking into his mouth, sucking on his bottom lip and Robb’s hands have found their way onto his hips— _fuck_.

Jon pulls away because, oh yeah, breathing. He and Robb stare at each other, pupils wide and lips bruised and then Jon remembers.

He turns and looks behind him, where Theon is still sprawled out on the easy chair, looking—looking.

“By all means,” he says, “please continue.” He’s trying hard to sound nonchalant, but, Jon thinks, it’s not really working for him for once.

“Theon,” Jon hears Robb say and it is _desperate_.

“Yeah, yeah,” Theon says, starting to get up.

It occurs to Jon, suddenly, that this is not going how he expected it to. Which isn’t odd, considering he had no expectations at all. All he knows is he didn’t think Theon would be part of it, coming over and leaning over them, going, “I got you,” to Robb and then, fuck.

Kissing him while Jon watches.

Like they’ve kissed before.

Jon’s stomach falls out from under him. He never even considered, never even thought. Sure there were times he slept over here and woke up alone, went upstairs to find the two of them eating pizza in the kitchen without their shirts on. And, sure, Robb was prone to talking about Theon more than most straight guys talked about a friend. Sure. But. Well.

He feels dizzy, nearly falling off of Robb’s leg, which he’s still straddling somehow. But one of Robb’s hands is on his hip and that keeps him steady. He watches as they kiss, hungry and urgent, and then break apart with ease.

“Aw,” Theon says, looking at Jon, far too close for comfort, “he’s all out of sorts.”

 _Shut up_ , Jon wants to say, the words already forming on his lips when Theon pushes him off of Robb and then captures him, is on top of him, kissing him like he’s been waiting to do it. Jon is halfway to shocked before he decides, abruptly, that he doesn’t really care to be. Maybe in any other situation he would be, but.

He already decided he was going to make something happen tonight and even if it’s turning out to be something different than what he intended, it’s not a reason to stop from throwing himself fully into things.

He kisses back with equal fervor, pushing up into Theon’s touch and enjoying the weight on top of him. Somehow it feels like this is what was missing, every other time he did this with someone else. Not just the weight of Theon, but the knowledge that Robb is watching them, watching Theon twist his fingers in Jon’s hair and stop kissing his mouth so he can trail his mouth down Jon’s cheek and start sucking on his jawline.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Jon hisses, staring up at the ceiling.

“Hey,” Robb says, and Jon can only just see him from his position, hair tousled and cheeks pink. “Hey, Theon. We should—bedroom?”

Theon makes a noise like _do we have to_? and Jon can see Robb roll his eyes.

“Yes, come on. Logically…logistic…cally…we’re not going to fuck him on the couch, dude.”

It’s such a simple sentence, easily said with slurred and broken words, Robb’s hand on Theon’s back like he’s going to help him puke in the bathroom or something, but no. Jon’s head spins as Theon grumbles but gets up.

“I’ll go ahead,” he says, stupidly confident as always. Jon sits up, winded and still reeling. “Just, um. Jesus. Help him, you know?”

Jon watches as Theon heads for the stairs and is surprised when he makes it up them without knocking into the wall or swearing loudly. He feels Robb touch one of his knees but can’t tear his eyes away from the other end of the basement for some reason.

“You okay?” he hears Robb ask.

“I just wasn’t expecting—this.” Jon looks towards Robb after a second and sees, upsettingly, Robb with big, worried eyes. “No, I, not in a bad way. Oh my God. Not in a bad way at all. Um, I just. You two? I’m still kinda a little wasted.”

“I’ll explain it some other time, if you want,” Robb offers and Jon nods because okay, sure, right now probably isn’t the time. And, honestly, Robb still looks so good.

“Can I kiss you again?” Jon asks his voice a broken, destroyed thing.

“Jesus. _Yes_.”

They both stumble upwards, standing and backing into a wall. Jon takes his time, less worried now that he’s going to be pushed away, but still not completely convinced this is actually fucking happening. Robb still tastes sugary sweet and summer dripped, like a good boy should.

When they part, Robb grabs his wrist and pulls him upstairs, come on pretty boy, and Jon’s thinking _but that’s you_ as he follows him.

He realizes doesn’t even know which bedroom is Theon’s, but Robb clearly does. It’s through the kitchen, down the hall, past the bathroom, last room on the left. The door is already open and apparently Theon spent his time up here by himself doing fuck all aside from turning on a lamp, because he’s just sitting on the edge of the bed and looking at his phone.

“Theon!” Robb says, like he’s admonishing a little kid.

“What? Oh, hi.”

It’s just like them, Jon decides, to make a drunk threesome into something complicated. He ends up standing against the wall by the door while Robb rifles through drawers and Theon carefully places his phone on the nightstand before coming over to join him.

“He’s very picky,” Theon says, by way of greeting. “Like, very. Have you ever been tested?”

“Yes, uh. Last spring. And I haven’t really—well, my results wouldn’t have changed, so. I’m clean.”

“That’s good,” Theon nods, leaning against the doorframe. “I mean, not good that you haven’t gotten any in months, but, hey. All roads lead um, to my bedroom.”

“Apparently,” Jon mutters, keeping his eyes on Robb.

“I’m thinking,” Theon says, “we’ll start with this.”

Then he’s on his knees like a prayer, like a dream, and Jon never even thought of this. Direct contact between the two of them. Theon making easy work of the button of his jeans, making a show of pulling the zipper down with his teeth. Yeah, okay, Jon never actually imagined this happening but if he had, he would’ve been pretty spot on.

“Shit don’t either of you know the meaning of _patience_?” Robb’s voice comes from some other place, across the room. Something clatters on a table top and Theon rolls down the waistband of Jon’s boxer briefs.

Jon’s already half-hard. Has been since the couch downstairs, and all of a sudden it’s urgently embarrassing, the obviousness of it.

“Oh, so eager,” Theon says, and Jon hates himself for it but he can’t help but think _yes god yes please do your worst_.

Theon’s mouth on the side of his dick, open-mouthed and kissing it and Robb at his shoulder all of a sudden, going, “Hey, oh, hey, it’s okay.” Kissing his neck. Jon feels like he’s going to slide down the wall, boneless already and Theon’s only just pressing his lips to the tip of his cock.

“I have this really, really good idea,” Robb says, pressing himself against Jon’s arm and, God, reaching down and putting a hand in Theon’s hair, urging him on. “Because you’re, ah, you’ve never been fucked by a guy.”

Jon moans at that, the idea of it, knees shaking as Theon takes more of him in his mouth. He can only just barely understand what Robb is saying, can only just feel the fact that Robb is breathing on his cheek. For once in their lives he and Theon are more focused on each other than they are on Robb. Theon’s mouth is hot, hot heat, nearly all the way down to where his fingers are around the base of Jon’s cock. And then Robb’s pulling on Theon’s hair, pulling him back, and Jon is left on edge, scrambling for purchase, falling into Robb’s hold.

“The idea is that you fuck me, yeah, okay?” Robb says against his cheek.

“Yeah, God, yes, oh—please.” Jon’s hands on Robb’s sides, still liquor ready and more forward than he’d ever allow himself to be sober. “Robb,” he whines, and even he can hear how filthy it sounds.

Robb sort of, kind of bodily drags him to the bed, and Jon can hear Theon like, “Oh, there it is, I knew you found it. I’ll get you ready for him, babe.”

Jon watches, breathless, from where he’s now halfway laying on the bed, as Robb pulls his t-shirt over his head from the back, then puts his thumbs under the waistband of his basketball shorts, and pushes them down. Fuck, he was right. Nothing underneath, Robb’s cock heavy and dark and red hair, more red than the hair on his head. It reminds Jon of last fall when Robb attempted to grow a beard for the first time, failed miserably. He bites back a smile at the thought.

Robb takes no time, no holds barred, finishes the job Theon started by helping Jon get his jeans and boxer briefs all the way off. Jon takes care of his own threadbare concert shirt, dropping it to the side as Robb slides against him, nothing between them, kissing him, hands on Jon, one hand on his hip and the other on his shoulder, pushing him down.

Stay, stay, he seems to be saying with his body, and Jon obeys.

Some part of him never forgets Theon is there, even though Robb is immediate, against him. Some part of him is hotly obsessed with the fact that someone is watching them. And not some eagle eyed stranger with a view, but someone Jon spends time with, someone who knows how to push all his buttons and revels in doing so when he finds Jon worth his time.

The night is hazy and Jon drifts. Somehow kissing Robb has become commonplace in the past half an hour. This is just what they _do_ now. He watches as Theon grabs at Robb’s jaw and takes his own turn. Robb’s lips are bruised and swollen to hell and Jon hopes he stays like that forever.

He takes his own initiative, lips on Robb’s shoulder, hand on Robb’s thigh, he cannot get enough.

Theon’s got his shirt off now, too, but is still wearing his boxers, which looks strangely soft, silk-like.

“Jon,” he says, “c’mere.”

And Jon is crawling over Robb towards him, letting Theon guide his hands and, ah. He wants Jon to put his hand inside, feel the wicked heat, the unfamiliarity of a cock that’s not his own. Still, Jon is on fire, burning a mile high for the whole world to see. Smoke stacks.

Robb is at his back now, kissing the skin there, licking like he loves the taste.

“Make him come,” he says, quiet over Jon’s shoulder and Jon would do anything he asked, always and forever.

But Theon says, “No, no, too soon—but you will. He will.”

Jon’s fingers sliding out from under the base of Theon’s cock, up his stomach, and Theon presses this weird, gentle kiss to the side of his mouth, something Jon never would have expected from him.

Theon is, in fact, overall more gentle than Jon would have thought, especially with Robb. Jon watches, flat on his back, trying to catch his breath, as Theon drips clear liquid on his fingers and calls Robb _babe_ again before pulling Robb to him. It feels like an incredibly intimate thing to watch and Jon is partway glad he’s not really a part of it. He’s already a sweating mess, trembling just a bit. Been brought to the edge and then led back and he needs to build himself up again before he goes running to jump off one last time.

The way Robb positions himself over Theon’s lap speaks of them having done this more times than Jon cares to really think about. The idea isn’t unappealing, but it does make jealousy curl within him like a dog with its hackles raised. He has no illusions that Robb is or ever will be his, but, God. All this time?

He’s going to have to work damn hard to make up for lost ground.

Theon is petting Robb’s hair with one hand and fingering him with the other when Jon finally pulls himself up. He gets behind Robb a close, but decent distance, and presses his face into the space between Robb’s shoulder blades. It feels right, comfortable, and Robb says his name and then Theon’s like he can’t possibly say one without the other.

Jon has his eyes closed and it feels like forever in the most comfortable way before Robb goes, “Okay, Theon.” There’s the wet sounds of kissing and a lingering moment of silence that Jon doesn’t witness the contents of. He opens his eyes when he feels a hand at his wrist, sees Robb smiling at him, dangerously good, an edge of fierceness to even his best intentions.

“Come on,” Robb says and, of course, Jon follows.

There have to be a million different ways he’s imagined this playing out, but it turns out that this way is the best. Robb leading the way and with Theon to the side of them. Who would have thought. Jon aches in waking moments for guiding hands, he just never thought he’d want them pulling him along in bed, too.

But this is the reality of things. He’s taken off guard by how immeasurably hot he finds the entirety of the situation. Robb on his back, Theon helping position the both of them, a drop of sweat falling from Jon’s nose to Robb’s chest like the beginning of rain.

He’s just started to think that nothing can feel better than this, than Robb’s skin against him and Theon’s hand on his shoulder, when he gets proven wrong. He pushes into Robb, slicked and ready for him, and, God, he was _so_ wrong. This is better, this is the best. Robb breathing soundless gasps, Jon’s whole body shaking, and then there’s Theon, going, “So good, both of you, so good.”

It takes Jon a second to get the hang of moving again and he’s less in control than he’d like to be, his hips snapping forward like a rubber band pulled too far back, the good kind of hurt against your wrist.

“God, oh my God,” Robb says, long drawn out syllables and reaching for Theon who obliges him, leaning down and licking into his mouth. “Fuck,” Robb says as soon as they part. “Jon, how long—how long have you wanted this? Please tell me.”

“Go on, shh,” Theon says, a hand creeping onto the small of Jon’s back, steadying him. “He’s a talker. You gotta answer him or he’ll never shut up.”

“Forever,” Jon rasps out. His hands are leaving marks on Robb’s hips, white indents in his full body flush. “Think about it all the time. You looking so pretty.”

Robb throws his head back, exposes his throat, a pleased sound escaping him as he licks his lips.

“Aw, but not me?” Theon at Jon’s side, covering one of Jon’s hands and making him press _harder_ into Robb.

“Theon,” Jon says, because no, not him, not before, but now—now, _yes_. He turns his head and Theon is right there like a shadow. He kisses expertly and he still tastes vaguely of cheap beer and basement air, their tangled lives together. As they kiss, Theon is dragging Jon’s hand from Robb’s hip and towards his own cock.

“Told you,” Theon says, rough against his cheek, “Told you that you would do this.”

Jon can barely keep himself on his knees. Robb under him, canting his hips upwards as Jon’s own body moves on autopilot. And Theon guiding him into a messy handjob that he’s only physically a part of. It’s all too much, all too much, and he’s coming without notice, his whole world in white out conditions. Danger, caution.

He falls forward, bracing himself over Robb with one arm, the other falling out of Theon’s grasp. He feels sticky all over, even against his chest and he realizes, belatedly, that Robb came at some point, maybe right after him. His head is swirling with possibilities, things he may or may not have noticed and then the sudden truth that he has to get Theon off.

Not only does he have to, he wants to.

He pulls out of Robb, slow and limp, his lips dry but spit-slicked and his entire body weak. Theon’s gone from kneeling to having pushed himself up against the headboard, next to Robb.

Jon, a mirror of Theon’s past actions, starts to roll down the waistband of Theon’s boxers and as soon as Theon realizes what he’s doing he helps him out, lifts himself off the bed and kicks the boxers to the side once they’re only on one ankle.

Jon puts his face to Theon’s cock and feels a hand in his hair. He’s not sure whose and he doesn’t really care, anymore. An hour ago, two hours ago, he would have cared. He would have worried about the inexpertise of his lips around a cock, but now he can only think _please let me do this_.

He tries to remember what’s been done to him before that he liked and that means he licks a stripe up the bottom of Theon’s cock, wraps one hand around the base. Theon goes, “Yes, God, yes,” so he figures he’s on the right track. Pushed forward by the hand in his hair, Jon takes the tip into his mouth and immediately hates how much he loves it. Heavy weight on his tongue, fitting perfectly into his mouth. Likes it more than he knows he’s supposed to, God.

There must be something wrong with him because when he realizes he can’t take in any more without gagging and has to let out just a little bit, his first thought is that he’s gotta work on that, he’ll be better next time. He bobs his head up and down and follows a rhythm that’s his own. He can hear the sounds of Theon and Robb kissing above him, and he finds it doesn’t even bother him.

He pulls away, swirls his tongue around the tip, then takes Theon in again, enjoys the choked noise from Theon that he knows he caused and the sound of Robb going, “Oh, almost.”

Almost is right, and Jon has a split second of anxiety about tasting come, having it down his throat, doesn’t think of the consequences and pulls back just as he feels it starting. He ends up with Theon’s come on his lips and chin, dripping down the bottom of his face, shell-shocked.

“Ah,” he says, licking his lips without really meaning to. Habit.

It tastes like nothing special, salt-laden and heavy, but he’s more surprised by the way they’re both looking at him, like they’ve never seen something so perfect.

It’s Theon who pulls him to them, saying, “ _Good_ boy,” in a way that makes Jon’s stomach flip over and inside out.

Robb gets up in a seemingly split-second decision, disappearing for half a minute during which Theon presses his lips to Jon’s shoulder and stays there and Jon finds that he’s okay with it, really, really okay with it.

Robb comes back with a handful of washcloths, already clean himself, and takes his time wiping one down Jon’s thighs and stomach, while Theon takes care of himself.

“See,” Theon says, in a mock whisper, “like I said, he’s picky.”

“Quiet you,” Robb says, rubbing the last clean edge of the wash cloth against the bottom of Jon’s chin. There’s no anger or venom in his voice, just fond exasperation. Jon doesn’t bother hiding the smile that tugs at the sides of his mouth and pretty soon Robb’s smiling back at him and he doesn’t even have to look to know Theon is doing the same, poking him in the side with his fingers.

It all feels bubbly, champagne giddiness in the nowhere time between night and morning, and Jon falls asleep so easily that he’s shocked when he wakes up.

Light filtering in through partly open blinds, Jon is facing Robb who is deeply asleep, breathing even with his head tucked under Jon’s chin. Jon’s hands are caught between the two of them and he moves them carefully, putting one under Robb’s waist and the other—the other gets caught by Theon from behind before he can decide what to do with it.

Theon’s pressed up against him, chest to Jon’s back. He slips his hand over Jon’s, runs his thumb over Jon’s knuckles, and all Jon can think is that they’re awake, they’re sober, and he’s still here in the middle of everything, even if just for a moment. He feels Theon sigh into his shoulder and he feels Robb rub his face against his throat.

Jon closes his eyes and doesn’t move away.


End file.
